We's A Family
by rachelep
Summary: The story of how each boy came to the Newsboys Lodgehouse
1. 1888 - Jack K

It was cold.

Sure, Jack Kelly knew what cold was. He'd lived in New York his whole life.

This year was different.

This year he didn't have a home. He had watched the life leave his mother's eyes and his father disappear into the back of a cop car. He watched people take his house from him and throw him into one much worse than the one-room he had grown up in.

This year he was left on his own on the streets after he left that terror of an orphanage, the very streets he now wandered in search of a warm corner to sleep in.

The sun was setting just over the brick buildings. The cold would only get worse, and the seven-year-old had only a thin sweater covering his slight frame. The shivering had been happening nonstop since the clouds first rolled in, and Jack was afraid of what would happen if they didn't stop. '

Jack rounded a corner on a street that he was unfamiliar with. Hopefully, it held a dumpster that could shield him from the wind. Just up ahead he saw a crowd of boys gathered in a cluster, whooping and hollering at something between them. Jack tentatively moved closer, his intrigue getting the better of him. These boys were much older than him, almost sixteen or seventeen. The conversation grew clearer as Jack advanced.

"They gave us all this just for helping them shovel the square! This will keep us warm for weeks," A lanky blond announced proudly, gesturing with his long arms.

The boys moved back and forth as they talked to each other, giving Jack short glimpses of a large pile of wood. He could image a large fireplace with a fire burning so brightly it blinded him. It warmed him to the core, and his hands reached out to tou-

"Hey kid!"

Jack's thoughts shot back into reality. He took a hesitant step back. Every time someone had called him like that, it wasn't for anything good.

One boy stood in front of him, his hands raised in a welcoming gesture. He reminded Jack of his father, an easygoing exterior but a hardness in his eyes. The boy grinned playfully. "You ain't got nothing to be scared about. What's your name, kid?"

"I'm Jack," Jack whispered softly, wrapping his arms around him, "Jack Kelly."

"Hello, Jack." The boy stretched his hand out towards Jack, and he shook it carefully. It was something that grown-ups did, not little kids like him.

"My name is Carter. We're looking for some help loading this wood into our building. Do you think you can help us? You look awfully strong."

Jack puffed up his chest and nodded. Of course, he could help. He was Cowboy Jack Kelly.

The others welcomed Jack into the circle while Carter gave out instructions for a line to haul the wood. After lining down the block to a worn-down brownstone, the boys began to toss the pieces of wood to each other. Jack stood right at the front, helping a boy named Willie pick up the blocks to go down the line. The wind started to blow towards the end of the pile, and Carter rushed everyone inside the brownstone after the wood had been stacked.

Jack stood amazed in the doorway of the building, staring around him in wonder. The place was run down, even much worse than what he had grown up in, but somehow these boys had made it cozy and homey. A blazing fireplace was just off to his right, and Jack hurried over to it to warm up. The others were doing the same, chatting about splinters and dropped logs on toes.

Carter came around to Jack's side, holding his hands out towards the flames. "So Jack, tell me where your parents are tonight."

"They died last year."

The conversations died out.

Carter stared at the fire with a pondering expression. "So where have you been living since then?"

"Well they first put me in some house, but it wasn't really a house. It felt like school or something because it had so many rules."

Willie laughed from his seat he had taken on the floor. "Do you want to stay here, Jack?"

Jack took a step back in surprise after Willie's offer. Someone wanted him to stay? He would never be cold again or hungry or-

"You would have to work though. This ain't no free gift," Carter told him sternly.

Jack frowned. "Work? Lugging more wood in here?"

Carter shook his head with a smirk. "Nah, selling newspapers. We're newsboys of the Manhattan branch, and this here is our lodgehouse. We only get to stay here if we work for the paper companies. Ours is The World under Joseph Pulitzer," he furthered explained.

Jack recognized that name. The guy was big news in New York. Even young Jack had heard of Joseph Pulitzer.

"What do you say, kid?" Carter asked, patting Jack's tiny shoulder.

"All I gotta do is sell papes, and that's it?"

"It ain't as easy as you think it is," Willie replied with a yawn.

"But I could do it?"

"That's up to you, Jack," Carter remarked, "Are you a newsboy now?"

"If you guys will have me."

The boys laughed, and Carter threw an arm around Jack and gave him a squeeze.

"Of course we will have ya, kid. The more the merrier!"

"So it's only the five of you guys? You must have to sell a lot of papers."

Carter grinned. "There's a whole bunch more than just us. HEY BOYS!"

There was a quiet rumble which turned into a roar as a hundred newsboys flooded down the nearby staircase. Jack looked around him in amazement as they all stared at the new addition.

"Who's the pipsqueak?" Someone called across the room.

"This is Jack, and he's decided to join the Manhattan newsboys!"

The room erupted in cheers, and Jack was engulfed in hugs. He couldn't help but to cry.

He finally had a home.


	2. 1888 - Race H

Hide.

Run. Breathe. Hide. Repeat.

That's all young Roger Higgins had been doing lately.

First of all, who would name their child Roger? That's a sure way to make a kid suffer. Second of all, who has a child with someone who's an ex-convict with a violent past. Third, who leaves their only son with the very person who killed them.

Lily Ann Ambrose hadn't been the smartest, but she had loved her son with all her heart. He knew that now after she had died, thanks to that horror of a father he had grown up under. He had killed her in a drunken rage, much like how he had beaten Roger every night of his life.

It happened last night. Roger's been on the run since, wanting to get as far away from his father as he could. He didn't think that his father had noticed that Roger was standing in the doorway and watched his mother die. Roger took off like a shot out of the apartment, leaving his mother's killer in the dust. He had passed police cars that were flying in the other direction. One of his neighbors must have heard the gunshot. Hopefully his father would be to inebriated to run.

Before Roger knew it he had traveled farther than he had even gone before. Those races he had participated in at the park gave him a lot more speed than what he had realized. Roger skidded to a stop and pulled a cigar out of his pocket. He popped it into this mouth, letting it calm him down.

Roger's grandfather gave him his first cigar two years ago when he was five years old.

_"I've never lit one, son," his grandfather told him, "not once in seventy-three years."_

_"Why do you still have them though, grandpa?" Roger asked blandly, trying to ignore his parents' argument in the other room._

_"It calms me down." _

_Here, his grandfather handed Roger a cigar of his own. Roger took it carefully and turned it in his small hands. _

_"Now, Roger," his grandfather began, "life ain't going to be easy." He glanced pointedly towards the yelling next door. "Promise me that you'll never light one, even during the hardest time."_

_"I promise with all my heart."_

_Roger's grandfather smiled tenderly at his grandson's innocence._

Roger loved his grandfather more than anything, but he was gone the following winter. Everyone was gone now.

* * *

Summer in the city is not something to take lightly. Roger really should have thought things over like where he was going to live or what he would eat. He had gone through half of his cigar pack in one day. He had always been a nervous kid, but this was something else.

Roger was starting to get hungry. A boy's gotta eat, you know? Suddenly, the smell of fresh bread filled the air. Roger turned to his left and spotted a few loaves sitting on a windowsill. There was an older lady inside, rolling out dough on a countertop. She glanced up and noticed Roger staring hungrily at the bread.

"Well, come on then. You can't eat it from over there!" she exclaimed, waving Roger towards her.

"I don't have any money, ma'am."

"That's all right! It's going to be cold if you don't hurry up."

Roger ran to the window and choose a loaf. He carefully broke off a piece and tossed it in his mouth. It practically melted on his tongue. A sigh escaped his lips as did a smile. "Thank you. It's delicious."

The lady inside gave Roger a smile while she wiped the dough off her hands. She walked closer to the window. "If you ever need something to eat, there will always be something here for you. We give bread to all of the newsboys."

"Newsboys?"

"Aren't you one?"

Roger shook his head. "No, I'm just me."

The woman laughed. "Well, head on down the street if you would like to be one. You're a fast little bugger. I've seen you running around here lately. The Manhattan newsboys could use someone like you, a little racer on New York's racetrack, and you could afford more than bread."

Roger stood and pondered for a moment. Little seven-year-old Roger could be earning money all by himself? He quickly swallowed his bread and stuffed the remainder of the loaf into his jacket. He nodded to the woman and sped off down the street.

The brownstone wasn't hard to decipher as the newsboy lodgehouse. It was rundown and falling apart, the result of hundreds of young boys. Roger pulled the last of his cigars from his pocket and placed in his mouth. He sauntered up the stairs and pushed open the doors. The front room was mostly empty other than a boy around Roger's age and one a few years older sitting atop a desk. The pair looked like brothers with the same dark hair. They looked up at Roger's loud entrance.

"I'd like to be a newsboy," Roger announced proudly, "if that's okay."

The youngest of the two boys hopped off the desk, walked over, and stuck out his hand. "Welcome to the family! My name's Jack. What's yours?"

Roger froze. Did he really want to be known as Roger to all these boys? He had already been teased by the kids on his street.

So, Roger Higgins was disappearing for good.

"The name's Race, Race Higgins, and I'm glad to be a part of the newsies of New York!"


	3. Reference

I'm just going to put this here so people don't get confused in the story about who's older than who. This is just my idea of the ages, and it's not canon at all (I think). Just refer to this if confused!

Jack, Mush, Race, Albert are the four oldest newsboys (that are going to be included in this)

Specs and Finch are a year younger.

Crutchie, Elmer, and Buttons are two years younger.

Romeo is three years younger.

Henry is the "baby" at four years younger than the oldest.

That's probably still really confusing but just try to understand it!

FINAL AGE ORDER

Jack, Mush, Race, Albert, Specs, Finch, Crutchie, Elmer, Buttons, Romeo, Henry


End file.
